


Fever Dreams

by MaddyBee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Cousin Incest, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Jon Snow knows nothing, Queen Sansa, Sansa-centric, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyBee/pseuds/MaddyBee
Summary: Sansa had spent most of her life being treated as a thing rather than a person. Not anymore. She will be the ruler of her own destiny, and God help anyone who gets in her way.Even her half-brother-turned-cousin-slash-secret-love-but-also-betrayer-Jon-Snow.(Continues from Season 7)((No, I don't know where this is going, but I had major BAMF-Sansa emotions I needed to release)).





	1. Chapter 1

Finally, she felt she could breathe again. 

The cold air of winter filled her lungs with ice that burned in the most familiar, delicious way. The grey sky stretched out above her, snow fell gently to fleck her cloak and hair, and she was home.

Joffrey was gone, Ramsay was gone, and now, so was Littlefinger. 

The men in her life who had done her wrong were no more, and Sansa felt free of her demons, at ease in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d left Winterfell all those years ago. She was nothing like that girl of dreams and songs, she was a woman of scars, bathed in iron with the blood of direwolves and winter coursing through her veins. 

She made the decisions now, she had charge of her own life. It seemed fitting that the first exercise of her power was to punish the man who had helped strip her of her independence in the past. Arya had been more than happy to oblige Sansa’s wishes and play executioner to the man who was the root cause of their father’s demise. 

As usually happened in regards to women, Sansa and her sister had been underestimated. Littlefinger had attempted to play them and believed with no doubt that they would fall into his trap. Of course, Sansa and Arya would not have lasted as long as they had if they fell for the tricks of a man who was as rotten and selfish to the core as Lord Baelish. 

Now the three Starks that remained in Winterfell had one less enemy in their midst, their pack tighter than it had ever been. They’d mourned for Robb and Rickon, for Mother and Father, and now there was only one left who needed to find their way back to Winterfell.

Jon, who was who knows where with Daenerys and Tyrion and a multitude of other people that Sansa couldn’t be sure were anywhere near trustworthy. The last letter she’d received from her brother was one stating that they had met with Cersei and convinced her of the danger coming from beyond the wall - as well as the knowledge that Jon had bent the knee and swore allegiance to Daenerys Targaryen. 

Daenerys was his king, and the thought made Sansa sick.

The anger and betrayal that had swirled inside her at his letter still simmered low in her stomach, sure to burst forth as soon as he returned. One look into his eyes and she knew - she knew - she’d feel more betrayed than she’d felt in years. They were supposed to be a team, ruling Winterfell together. They’re family was now as complete as it could ever be, and it felt as though Jon had turned his back on them. 

Sansa wasn’t a child anymore, and she knew that he probably had valid reasons for bending the knee, but every time she thought about it she felt more and more angry. 

So she didn’t think about it. Instead, she inhaled another breath of sharp air and smiled at the thought of Petyr Baelish’s blood currently being scrubbed from the floor of their hall. She would never before have considered herself vindictive - not before Ramsay came along and shattered any dreams of fairy tales she had left and so she found poetic beauty in letting him be killed by the beasts that usually did his bidding. 

As a girl, she’d wanted people to look at her and see a lady - beautiful, poised, regal and ethereal. Now, she wanted people to look at her and see something else entirely - power, knowledge, courage, strength - all the qualities that her Father and Robb had possessed. She wanted people to look at her and see a Stark, someone to respect and rely on. 

She wanted people to see a Queen. 

xxx

Not for the first time in his life, Jon didn’t know what he was doing. 

The Mother of Dragons lay asleep and naked beside him, while his eyes stayed fixated on the ceiling above him. There were only a few more days of travel before they reached Winterfell, and the amount of emotions this caused in Jon was dizzying.

He was excited, for sure. He was to be reunited with Bran, with Arya, his dear siblings that he’d missed so much - and Sansa, of course. He’d missed her more than he ever realised he could. They’d been beside each other ever since the reunion at Castle Black, and it was strange to not have her as a steady calm by his elbow. 

He was also relieved to be heading back to the North, not one for the heat and the smell and the claustrophobia of the South. He longed for rich furs and crackling fires and snowflakes in his hair. He doubted Daenarys felt the same, couldn’t picture her shrouded in cloaks in the deep snow. 

Wherein lay the predominant emotion - trepidation. Worry over how his people would react to their leader, their King, not only kneeling to a foreign Queen, but bringing her into their home. He hadn’t seen Arya and Bran in so long he had no idea if they would support his decision or be full of shame at his actions, see him as a traitor of a family name that, as a bastard, wasn’t even really his in the first place. Then there was Sansa. He knew she’d be angry, hurt, confused. He knew that she’d understand his reasons, but he doubted she would accept them.

He was worried that she would never really forgive him. 

xxx

She was in her solar, gazing into the flames in thought when she was roused by a knock at the door and the announcement of the arrival of Jon Snow - and his party. The direwolf laying by her feet pricked his ears at the mention of his master's name, and with one quick glance up at Sansa, Ghost bolted from the room. After a quick order to prepare rooms for their guests and the smoothing of her dress for confidence, she followed the wolf from the room. 

She took her place front and centre of the gathering crowd, Arya to her left and Bran to her right. Hushed whispers filtered through the gathered allies as news of who accompanied their King in the North spread.

Jon had a lot to answer to. 

The gates creaked open and the clatter of hooves heralded the arrival of Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Davos, Brienne and a handful of people she didn’t know. A dark-haired young woman, a serious young man, and an older warrior followed closely behind the Dragon Queen, eyes dancing around the castle and the people awaiting them. 

There was nothing but silence as Jon slipped from his horse and took a few uneasy steps forward. Ghost rushed to meet him, eagerly butting his head into the man’s legs and sniffing at his hand. Jon let a small smile grace his features and ran a hand through thick fur, before looking up at his siblings in what almost looked like nervousness. 

Arya, unsurprisingly, was the one to break the stand-off. She leapt into Jon’s arms, hugging him tight as he held her head and her waist and spun her round in pure relief that she was alive and home. The moment was short, and before pulling away Arya appeared to whisper something in Jon’s ear that set his grin into a grimace, and his arms dropped back to his side as Arya retreated to her place next to her sister. 

As Jon approached Bran to greet the boy he barely recognised, Sansa shot Arya an imperceptible look out the corner of her eye. Arya, not one to miss a thing these days, gave a minute shrug before turning her gaze back to the party before them, one hand resting casually on the hilt of Needle. 

When Jon turned his gaze to Sansa, she felt what she had known she would - anger, distrust, rejection, betrayal, inadequacy. They burned her insides horribly, and so rather than let them boil over for everyone to see, she turned away from her brother and locked eyes with Daenerys. 

“As Lady of Winterfell, I am pleased to welcome you to our home. I hope you find your stay here comfortable, and if you require anything you need only ask. I’m sure we have much to discuss, but you must be weary from travel. You will be shown to your rooms and we will reconvene tonight at dinner.” 

With a quick curtsey of respect, she nodded to a cluster of staff to her right. Jumping into action, stable boys led away the horses and handmaiden’s offered to show the guests to their rooms with practiced grace. 

Her part done for now, Sansa turned from the flurry of activity and disappeared into the crowd, ignoring the feeling of Jon’s eyes burning into her back all the way. 

xxx

Locked away once more in her chambers, it was a matter of hours before Sansa was disturbed from her attempts at self-reasoning. Arya slumped in the chair by the fire, polishing her sword as Sansa attempted to avoid a probing conversation by appearing engrossed in the paperwork before her. 

The two sat in careful silence for a while, Sansa on edge the whole time until Arya finally spoke.

“Do not misunderstand me here, I too am greatly put out by what Jon has done. He shouldn’t have done it, or at the very least he should have consulted with us. I’m so angry that finally, finally, we’re back together and yet he betrays us in such a way. Anger, I get.”

She put Needle down, and fixed her elder sister with a searching stare. 

“But why do you seem so hurt?”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to even attempt to answer that when the truth was she didn’t know herself. Still, she tried - there was no lying to Arya or Bran when they could see through deception before she even opened her mouth.

“I understand it seems irrational, but you have to realise, it is not just me that I am responsible for. Every man who laid down his life to help us take back our home, everyone currently gathered here in Winterfell pledged allegiance to the Starks - to Jon, the King in the North. Yet now he’s betrayed them all, abandoned them and deserted us all for a foreign Queen when all I- we - want is to be left alone, for the North to be independent from the blood games of the South.”

Arya sat quiet throughout her speech, eyes still searching for something more, something hidden. Something she appeared to find, because a smirk suddenly curled the corners of her lips. But before Sansa could question it, Arya grasped Needle and stood from her chair to stride towards the door. 

“I guess we’ll get some answers at the feast. I will leave you to get ready.”

Alone once more, Sansa did indeed prepare for what was to come.

xxx

It was undoubtedly childish, but there was a part of Sansa that couldn’t help feel smug and amused by Ghost’s obvious dislike of Daenarys. Sansa was sat at the centre of the long table in the dining hall, Arya and Bran flanking her as usual. Ghost was settled at her feet, getting up briefly to greet Jon and growl at the silver-haired woman before returning to the Starks. Arya hid her amused grin in her cup as Jon went red at his direwolf’s behaviour, Daenerys looking put out at being so readily rejected by the creature. 

As much as it was amusing to watch, Sansa had a part to play and stood from the table to greet her guests. Arya stayed seated with Bran so as not to leave him behind and make him appear shunned, as Sansa took the lead and stepped up to the Dragon Queen. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mother of Dragons.” 

The use of a title that didn’t indicate her Queen status didn’t escape Daenarys attention, and her brow raised in indignation. 

“A pleasure indeed, Lady Stark.” 

Frosty smiles adorned their lips as the two woman maintained eye contact, and Tyrion was quick to clear his throat and diffuse the tension. 

“Lady Sansa, it is good to see you home once more. The North suits you.”

The redhead smiled warmly at her once-husband, successfully pulled away from the staring contest.

“It is wonderful to see you, My Lord. I am very much glad you’re alive still.”

The Lannister laughed and turned to gesture at the people behind him. The Stark children were quickly introduced to Missandei, Grey Worm and Jorah Mormont, then shared a polite greeting with Varys before a boy named Gendry was brought forward. He bowed to her and greeted her kindly, but it didn’t miss Sansa that his attention quickly returned to Arya - there was a story there that she was dying to know, and she gave Arya a quick quirk of the eyebrow to show her intrigue. 

Sansa was pretty sure that Arya was blushing, just a little. 

As Brienne expressed her pleasure to see them well, the group took their places around the table and strained small talk filled the air. 

“Isn’t Lord Baelish joining us? Or is he too busy skulking around the castle somewhere plotting the death of everyone around him?”

At Tyrion’s question, all eyes turned to Sansa, but it was Jon, sat diagonally from her across the table by Daenerys’ side, who she fixed her gaze on.

“Littlefinger is dead. Tried and executed on accounts of treason and murder.”

Her words were so sure and cold that everyone was briefly taken aback. Tyrion joked about the blessing of such news, and attention was diverted as the food was brought in and wine was poured, but Jon’s gaze stuck to hers. He knew there was more to the story, but he also knew now wasn’t the time. 

Right now, they had other matters to discuss. 

“So, dear brother, care to explain what happened while you were away and why exactly you bent the knee without a second thought for your family?”

Like that.


	2. Chapter 2

The words were said in a casual tone, but the steel underneath Arya’s question was palpable. The table fell silent and gazes averted to their plates as Jon and Arya locked gazes, one nervous and one ice cold. The leather of Sansa’s gloves creaked as she flexed her fingers in unease, and she picked up her cup to divert attention from her fidgeting. Draining the wine amidst the tense atmosphere, she continued her meal in forced serenity.

“Not now, Arya.”

The younger girl gritted her teeth and flicked her glare briefly to Sansa before resuming her meal. The table bathed in the strained silence, and when Sansa dared chance a glance at her guests, she met the half-amused eyes of Tyrion. He shot her a smirk, then - as usual, it seemed - was the one to breach the uneasy silence, this time by asking after Bran. 

If there was one way to distract from the thick tension between the table’s occupants, it was to unite them in pure confusion over the so-called Three-Eyed Raven. Conversation of wine, weddings, and winter managed to keep emotions at bay for the remainder of the meal, and once the plates were taken away, Sansa cleared her throat and straightened her spine.

“My Lords and Ladies, I think it best we retire for the night. It is late, and my family and I have much to discuss before further action can be planned. We will reconvene tomorrow morning, once we are all of clearer minds.”

She bid them goodnight with a bow, before sweeping from the room with the assumption that her siblings would follow her. Sure enough, Ghost pressed himself to her heels, Arya pushed Bran’s chair at her elbow, and Jon sloped along at the back of the pack as they headed towards Sansa’s chambers - the ones furthest from the guest rooms. 

No one spoke a word as the heavy door shut behind them, officially separating themselves from every other person in the castle. Without the importance of impressions, they instantly relaxed, statures slumping as the need to keep up appearances disappeared. Sansa was no longer the Lady of Winterfell, she was just a young, tired woman, and it showed in the way she fell heavily into her desk chair, cloak tossed behind her and gloves quickly pulled off so she could better massage her temples. 

Dragging his eyes from her - this was not the time for concern - Jon turned to his other siblings. Bran was sat near the window, mind clearly as far away as it always was these days, and Arya was stood in front of him, glaring him down with her stern frown and clenched fists. 

His brow furrowed sadly, and he stared at his sister who was no longer the girl he once knew, but a women he was sure could kill him without effort. The thought was not a comfort. 

“Arya, please, just let me explain.”

He was sure she would refuse his request and yell at him instead, but to his surprise, she turned to Sansa, who nodded, and then settled to lean against the edge of the desk, fixing her stare on him once more.

He took this as his chance to speak, but now that he finally had the opportunity to explain his actions, he couldn’t summon the right words. He had spent almost the entire trip back to Winterfell rehearsing his speech, justifying his actions, explaining his decisions, and now that it was finally time to say them, he couldn’t.

He cleared his throat, opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Huffing frustratedly, he tried again - nothing. The little patience Arya had for him at the minute was wearing thin, and she shuffled her feet and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in irritation. Bran was still ignoring everyone in the room, so Jon turned to the one person that he truly feared would never forgive him, would never understand why he did what he did. The person who had every right to feel betrayed by him.

Sansa stared coolly back at him, and he spoke directly to her as if the others weren’t there.

“I understand that you’re mad. Of course you are. But you need to understand why I did what I did. I wasn’t turning my back on Winterfell, on my family - I know that’s what you think, and I know that’s how it appears - but everything I did, every decision I ever make is to protect the North, protect my people...protect you.”

He had to consciously glance at Arya and Bran, too consumed with Sansa and her stoic expression to have realised it might have seemed his feelings were only directed at her.

“Daenerys has dragons, an army, a fleet. She has loyal followers and experienced warriors and men who know nothing better than how to win wars both on and off the battlefield. We can’t fight them. We would lose, everyone who has sworn allegiance to us would be burned or taken prisoner. We would all be executed.”

Silence.

“So why not make a deal? Ally our nations, agree to help her in the war with Cersei in return for freedom of The North? Not sign us over to be ruled by a woman whose family betrayed ours?”

There was fire in Arya’s eyes, her chest heaved as she spat her words at him. She waited for a good answer, a proper explanation. But she didn’t get one. So with a noise of disgust, she barged past Jon’s shoulder and stomped from the room. 

“The decision you made makes sense, Jon,” Bran spoke in his eerie voice, slowly turning his chair to leave the room, “but that doesn’t mean it was the right one.”

His wooden wheels creaked, and then there were two. 

All of a sudden, the fight drained out of Jon in one sigh. He shed his cloak and his sword, took a seat by the fire and put his head in his hands as he waited for Sansa to speak. He had to wait several minutes. 

“Why did you not consult with me, Jon?”

Her voice was calm and quiet, but the sorrow underneath had him closing his eyes in shame.

“We’re supposed to be a family. Finally, we have each other, we have our home - it was our chance to build up the Stark household again, a chance for us to be safe and free.” Her voice cracked, and the anger and betrayal began to creep into her words as she stood and glared at him. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from hers as the tears made them shine. “You promised you’d protect me. I’ve been passed around houses like a pawn piece, and when I found you, I thought I was finally, finally, safe. But I was wrong. You’re just another person who doesn’t spare a thought for my feelings.”

Her words and eyes turned cold, and Jon felt a lump in his throat that he just couldn’t swallow.

“Sansa,” he tried weakly, but she raised her hand to stop him.

“No. I know you had your reasons, and I know you probably thought you were doing the right thing, but that’s the problem. After everything we’ve been through, after swearing to listen to me, you went behind my back, you single-handedly broke down the trust from the Northern Houses that it took months to gain. You broke the trust that I thought I would never feel again, and didn’t think twice about it.”

A million thoughts swam through his head, many things he should say, and some things he probably shouldn’t but God he wished he could say, but still nothing came out his mouth. 

His stunned silence caused her shutters to come up, and she turned to stare off out the window with her back to him.

“Go, Jon. Go check your Queen has settled in.” 

He knew he should say something, fight back, promise her that all he wanted in life was to make her happy - but he couldn’t. So instead, he left the room in silence, and didn’t hear the sobs that wracked through Sansa’s body as she clutched at the window pane for support. 

xxx

Red hair tumbled round her shoulders and her pale, shaking hand clasped tightly against her mouth to stop the scream from ricocheting through the silent room and halls beyond. Squeezing her eyes shut, a tear dripped down her cheek and her body trembled as the adrenaline slowly leaked from her body. It was several minutes before she managed to catch her breath and open her eyes to the calming darkness that shrouded her. 

With determined movements, Sansa stood from her bed and crossed the room to gasp in the ice-cold air through her window.

She hated nightmares. They always made her feel weak.

The dreams had plagued her for years now, worsened greatly by her time with Ramsay. She could keep the memories at bay in the day, when she was busy being the Lady of Winterfell. At night though, every mark on her body and the exact pain of its infliction played vividly in her head. Every burn and scratch and bruise, every time she was forced on to the bed and screamed in pain as he - no.

She closed her eyes again.

He was dead. It was over.

She told herself this repeatedly, but there was no reassurance. So, she went with habit, wrapping herself in her cloak and padding softly from her room and down the silent corridor. A guard was stationed at the end of the long hallway, and if he had seen her would surely have questions as to why she was wandering the halls alone and half-dressed in the night. Luckily, she was headed in the other direction, towards the dead-end of the corridor that didn’t warrant a guard. 

After Jon and Sansa had been reunited, it was no secret or surprise that they had come to depend on each other heavily for support in all aspects of their lives - they were both broken people who needed the comfort each other could offer after spending so much time keeping up appearances. Whenever either of them had a nightmare, it became a sad tradition that they would head to the other’s chambers and stay there to talk until they were ready to return to their own bed. 

It wasn’t until she was a few paces from his room that the thought struck her that maybe she didn’t actually want to see Jon right now. She was furious with him after all. Then again, she needed him - more than she cared to admit - and anyway, maybe now was the time to get answers from him, when it was just the two of them. The bond they shared was different from the ones they shared with their other siblings, it was...deeper? More intimate?

She swallowed the lump in her throat, shook her head and pushed away the thoughts that she’d been keeping buried for weeks now. Careful, Sansa.  
She took the last few steps towards the door, and raised a fist to knock. Then, she heard it. Whispers. Daenerys. 

Sansa’s heart tightened in jealousy she knew she had no right to feel. What was she doing in Jon’s room in the middle of the night? She had her own chambers in the guest quarters, and yet she had crossed the castle - to what? Laugh about how he had betrayed his family? Plan what they were going to do when they took over Winterfell and Sansa was once more stuck being a playing piece in an enemy’s court?

The whispers turned to a giggle and then a moan, and Sansa finally realised what was happening behind that door, and that it was much worse than what she had feared. 

As she headed back to her chambers, defeated and lonely, two words repeated over and over in her mind. 

Stupid girl. Stupid girl. Stupid girl. 

xxx

If there was one thing that King’s Landing had taught her, it was the importance of keeping emotions hidden. To expose your feelings was to expose your weaknesses, and Sansa had become well-versed in how to act as if she felt nothing.

Black dress on, hair pulled back tight, and face carefully set into a blank expression, Sansa headed down to the main hall. 

Originally, she had planned to meet with Arya before breakfast to discuss their plan, and to make her younger sister understand that her anger needed to be kept under control as they had to hear out everyone’s opinion. However, after what she had learnt last night, Sansa was in no mood to be forgiving.

She wanted answers, and she wouldn’t compromise. 

Littlefinger had insinuated that Jon and the Dragon Queen could wed, and Sansa - like a child - had scoffed and insisted that would never happen. 

She was quickly realising that maybe she didn’t actually know Jon as well as she thought she did - as well as she wished she did. She would make him realise that just because he was the King in the North, that didn’t give him permission to become a tyrant. All that would happen if he acted like the kings before him would be that he would end up like the kings before him - hated and dead. 

It was time she finally used the knowledge that she had gained, the resilience she had grown, to protect Winterfell with everything she had - even if it was against one of her own.

A cool smirk briefly flickered across her lips before her expression schooled once more. She nodded quickly to the guard who stood by the doors to the hall, and as she strode in, back straight and head high, she locked eyes with Jon, and then Daenerys. 

Time to show them that Sansa Stark was a woman to be feared.


End file.
